For a Song
by Hikaru Morinaga
Summary: There's a boy who was sold for a song, looking lost as always. There's something in his past, a story that tells how he ended up this way. In five years he went from troublemaker to assassin. How does a story like that end? Does it even have an ending?


**For a Song**

**-****One-**

_.sold._

Crawford stepped out of the rented car first, straightening his tie before opening his umbrella. It was pouring out and it didn't help that it was also windy as all hell. Crawford knew the weather would be less than ideal for travel and dressed in clothes that would not show any stains from the rain. He had to look his best, of course. This was the day he was getting his telepath, after all. It was almost like shopping for the perfect psychic at Nordstrom's, personally picking out who would be in his assassin group—after they completed the necessary training, that is. Behind him was a man dressed in a suit matching his and a woman dressed like a girl from a Chinese kung-fu movie. The man held an attaché case.

Crawford was the only one who knew this boy was a telepath. The rest only knew he had paranormal abilities, and for all they knew, this was only an investigation. He didn't brief them on anything specific because they didn't need to know; Crawford was one of those 'only if you need to know' people. He also didn't tell them if the boy was the hostile or aggressive type. He rapped on the door with his knuckles, ignoring the peeling and chipped paint on the door. It opened a crack and Crawford noticed a chain link preventing someone—like him—from forcing their way inside. One light blue eye peered through the crack.

"Can I help you?" It was a woman who spoke. "If you're here to browse the bookshelves, I'm afraid we're closed and you'll have to come back tomorrow." She pointed at the sign in the window. One of the men, the one with the attaché, stepped forward, in front of Crawford.  
"We're not here to buy your wares." His voice was gruff. "We are here for your child."  
She nearly slammed the door in their faces, but Crawford spoke up.  
"We're not child protective services. We're just here to see your son."  
She looked at Crawford, looked him up and down. He couldn't have been younger than eighteen, twenty-one at the most.

"Which one do you want to see?"  
Crawford smiled knowingly. "The one who has no father."  
She closed the door a little. "What do you want with him?" She looked fearful. Were these men lawyers, here to come take her son to his rightful father? Was he suing for custody?  
"He has been selected to attend a school in Munich for people just like him."  
"Like him...? What do you mean by—"  
"Sofia! Who's that at the door?" a voice from upstairs asked. He sounded like he was just catching his breath.

She turned away from the door as her husband came to the landing. He looked rather disheveled, though no one outside the house could see.  
"No one important," she said meekly. His footsteps thumped down the stairs and he peered hard at her.  
"If it was no one important, you wouldn't be here talking to them, would you?" He pulled her away from the door and behind him so he could get a good look at the three people standing on their doorstep.

"We don't want whatever you're offering or selling," he said tersely. "We've got enough whores in this house." And with that he slammed the door in their faces.  
"Richard! You don't know what they're offering! How can you slam the door in their faces without listening to them first?"  
"There's nothing to listen to."

"It's about Kris," she said.

"Like I said, there's nothing to listen to."

"But they want to help him," she insisted.

"Sofia, when will you learn that no one can help him—not even God. We've tried, doctors have tried, everyone's tried. Let it go."

Outside, Crawford could hear their entire argument through the sorry excuse for a door. He rolled his eyes and looked at his watch.  
"Rudolf, give me the briefcase," he ordered, holding out his hand.  
Rudolf looked taken aback. "But Crawford—"  
"No buts. You and Sylvia can wait in the car."  
"Crawford—"  
"Let's go," Sylvia interrupted as she grabbed Rudolf's arm. "Crawford is more than capable of handling this himself."

Reluctantly, Rudolf let Sylvia lead him back to the car, where he slammed the door shut.

-x-

"So what did Kris do this time?" Richard's voice sounded tired; people came all the time to their house to tell him the latest 'bad' thing his stepson had done. He turned to the boy next to him on the couch. "What did your brother do this time, Luke?"

Lukas shrugged his shoulders. "How would _I_ know?"

Crawford sat in the cleanest looking seat in what he assumed was their living room. Though the place was a lot cleaner on the inside than it was on the outside, it was still dumpy looking in his eyes. How could anyone live in the slums of Berlin and survive like this?

"Where's Kris, 'Fia?"

Sofia looked at the clock. "He should be in his room."

"Get him down here."

She disappeared upstairs.

"Mr. Faust, I am not going to mince words here with what I have to propose," Crawford said.

Richard gave him a look. Crawford sighed.

"I am going to be very blunt and not sugarcoat anything."

"Well then why in the Hell didn't you say that the first time?" Richard asked as he heard two pairs of feet make their way down the stairs.

_Interesting mix of genetics, I see_, Crawford thought. Lanky with short-medium flame-red hair and light blue eyes. A quick glance between the boy and his mother showed that they were nearly identical in terms of colouring; he must have gotten his height from his father. He didn't look like a thirteen year old, but like someone in their late teens.

"Sit down, Kris," Richard ordered.

Kris saw Crawford sitting on one of the armchairs by the window and was suspicious of him. Men wearing crisp suits with briefcases were the people his parents taught him to avoid if he could help it. They meant he was going to be taken away from them. But there was something else about him.

The voices were almost completely silenced.

_Who __**is**__ this guy?_ He sat down in a chair as far away from the rest of them as possible out of habit.

"Mister and missus Faust," Crawford said as he moved one leg so it was resting over the other at the knee. "I have a proposal you won't be able to refuse." With that he took out a clipboard from his briefcase.

Richard leaned back in his seat. Sofia sat on Lukas's other side. Whatever this proposition was, she was sure she wasn't going to like it very much. Call it 'Mother's Intuition'.

"For the purposes of being brief… We at Rosenkreuz would like to buy your son."

Sofia nearly had a heart attack. "I'm sorry, what did you say?"

"We would like to buy your son," Crawford repeated.

"For how much?" Richard asked, and Sofia looked at him.

"Richard, we are not selling Kris."

"Not if we don't get a good sum," Richard said, not caring one bit about Kris and caring only about the price he was worth. "But if it's good…"

Sofia bit back a retort as Crawford stared at her with cold, unfeeling eyes, her husband eyeing the offered clipboard with interest. If she were the type of person, she would have scowled at him, resented him with every fiber of her being. Instead, her son did that for her as he held his head between his knees.

"So how much are you giving us?" Richard asked Crawford.

"100,000 Marks to start, then 20,000 more annually until he is eighteen."

"Make it 150,000 Marks with 25,000 a year," Richard bargained. "We don't have much, as you can plainly see. This bookshop costs us a small fortune, plus with four mouths to feed, to clothe, and to shelter…"

"125,000 Marks with 20,000 annually." Crawford wasn't going to go any higher than that. He could almost see the gears whirring in the man's head.

_Greed. It brings out the absolute worst in people._

"And you'll keep him away from the rest of society, right?"

Crawford nodded. "That is correct. The Rosenkreuz Institute for Gifted Children is completely self-contained and self-efficient. No one from the outside comes in, and no one from the inside goes out. Not without extensive supervision."

Richard nodded, going along with what this stranger dressed in all black was saying. Sofia, on the other hand, was not too sure about this.

"If you just gave him a chance… Showed him some love and kindness, then maybe… Maybe it would all just go away," she said quietly. "If you looked past the problems, you would see such a sweet boy…" She turned to Richard. "This is all your fault anyway. If you hadn't kept him locked up in here like a caged bird—"

Richard scoffed; Kris rolled his eyes.

_Not another argument._

"You've seen what he does! He screams and pitches a fit about how the voices are overwhelming him! He's fucking mad!" He took the clipboard from Crawford then. "Where do I sign so I can be rid of him?"

"Right at the bottom where it says 'father's signature'."

Sofia wanted to grab that board right out of her husband's hands.

"Don't you want to discuss this?" she asked.

Richard ignored her and instead penned his name—Richard Alfred Faust—right where Crawford said to, without a second thought.

"Richard! I am his _mother_—shouldn't I have a say?"

He snorted. "Sometimes I think you're just as crazy as him. It'll do him some good to be with people like him."

Crawford took the clipboard back and then handed it to Sofia. "Your signature is needed as well, Mrs. Faust."

_You agree to forfeit any and all parental rights_… was all she had to read before she pushed it away from her.

"I am not severing my rights as his mother," she said at once.

"You didn't even finish reading it," Richard said, pushing it back to her. "Stop being a stubborn bitch."

"You're making it out like he's a piece of property you can just trade off to whoever you want. And that's fine if you think that—but I don't. And I am not agreeing to something that treats him that way. He is a thirteen year old boy. He has a problem, yes, but that doesn't make him any less human."

Richard tapped his fingers impatiently against the arm of the chair. "Are you done yet? Sign the damn thing already."

"But—"

"For God's sake, Mother, stop arguing and sign the damn thing."

Everyone looked to the darkest corner of the room and saw Kris, a look of frustration on his face.

"But Kris—"

"I've had enough of you and Richard arguing every single night since I was three. Sign your rights away so I can _leave_."

No one said anything in response. Crawford looked impatiently at his watch, Richard looked satisfied, and Sofia looked like someone had just killed her best friend.

Finally, defeated, Sofia took the clipboard and signed underneath Richard's name. She never felt so hurt in her life.

"Very good," Crawford said as he placed the clipboard inside the briefcase. "All that is left is for me to have your son collect his things and I can take him to the car waiting for us." He said this more to Kris than to Sofia and Richard. Kris took that as his cue to go upstairs and collect his things, which he did happily. He was glad to leave, glad to leave and never have to return.

He said nothing to his father and he refused a hug and a kiss from his tearful mother. Crawford ushered him out the door and Richard saw them out.

That was the last time Sofia would see her son for five years.


End file.
